The gingerbread house sat between the room’s windows. Their swooping gold draperies, topped with fringed red swags, framed Marcel’s creation to perfection. I sighed. Despite all the crazed goings-on these past few days, the comfort of this room filled me with a warm sense of contentment.

Opposite the wall with the fireplace, the waitstaff had set up a champagne fountain. Dry now, it would be primed and ready to go before the reception on Tuesday. Two of our butlers would flank it, serving directly from the cascading fountain, so that none of our guests would get his or her fingers sticky.

Everything sparkled, looking warm and wonderful. Standing by the fireplace, I ran a finger along the edges of some of the gingerbread men turned in by our nation’s kids. These simple, homemade decorations added just the right touch.

I wandered into the State Dining Room. Decorated trees in the room’s corners were heavy with dazzling white and silver decorations. Matching ribboned arrangements hung from the wall sconces and draped the fireplace. A long table ran down the middle of the room, topped with complementary centerpieces. And everywhere I looked-on the trees, the walls, hanging from sconces-were more gingerbread men. Kendra was on her knees in the room’s far corner, strategically arranging two more little men on the lowest branches of a tree.

“This is gorgeous,” I said.

She turned, her flushed face breaking out into a huge smile. “It does look good, doesn’t it?”

“That’s an understatement.” Standing near her, I turned, slowly, in order to take in the whole display. To just appreciate the beauty of it all.

“I’m relieved to have the extra time,” Kendra said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “We would have had everything done by noon if we needed to.” She glanced at her watch, then grimaced. “But I’m happy for the breather. Gives me the chance to do a little extra.”

“This theme is fabulous,” I said, stepping close to the east wall and touching one of the gingerbread men’s arms. “It gives the White House such a cozy feeling.”

“This is a first for me. I didn’t know how hard it would be to sort through submissions from all over the country.” Her eyes widened and her voice lowered. “It was a nightmare,” she said. “Which is why we’re running later this year than I expected. There’s so much more involved with accepting decorations for the White House from people. Everybody has to be checked out thoroughly before we even think about using their pieces.” She took a slow look around the room, a satisfied smile on her face. “But it was sure worth it.”

“Did you turn anyone down?”

She wrinkled her nose. “A few. Some arrived broken, some didn’t follow directions and sent gingerbread men that were the wrong size, or the wrong shape. Part of what makes an overall design work is consistency in the right places.” She shot me a conspiratorial grin. “Of course, we don’t tell people that their kids’ artwork has been relegated to the basement cafeteria. We just send them the official thank-you letter and let them know their efforts are appreciated. They’ll never know.”

“Speaking of gingerbread men,” I said, “I gave Marcel some from the Blanchard kids. I didn’t see them in the Red Room like Senator Blanchard requested.”

Kendra’s eyebrows raised. “Preferential treatment?”

“You know it.” I ticked my fingers. “One, he’s a senator. Two, he’s a special friend of the First Lady’s, and three… the decorations are really well-done.”

A skeptical look. “From Blanchard’s kids?”

I winked as I started back to the Red Room. “Rumor has it the Blanchard chef put them together.”

She shook her head. “Why am I not surprised?”

Back in the Red Room, I happened upon Yi-im, who was touching up the house with a cup of powdered sugar and a tiny paintbrush. “Did the house survive the move all right?” I asked.

He canted his head, nodded, then went back to work.

After a few minutes of checking the room, I approached him again. “Where are the gingerbread men from Senator Blanchard?”

Yi-im’s jaw moved sideways, as though he were considering my question. Finally, he shook his head and shrugged. Did this man never talk?

Just as I was about to ask him again where they might be, Marcel came in, his face shiny from exertion, but his demeanor high and cheerful. “She looks marvelous, no?” he asked us.

Yi-im straightened and I told Marcel how fabulously things were coming together.

He beamed. “It is time to ensure that my masterpiece is fully functional,” he said, moving to the rear of the platform upon which the house sat. He plugged it into the wall. “We must see.” Turning to Yi-im, he waved his hand, one finger aloft, encompassing the room’s illumination. “Please lower the lights.”

Yi-im obliged. The moment the room was darkened-not terribly dark since daylight still brightened the windows- Marcel stepped back and rested his hand on the switch located behind the gingerbread building. “We are ready, yes?”

I nodded.

When Marcel flicked the switch, the gingerbread White House lit up from the inside. A warm, golden glow emanated from each frosty window and suffused the creation with a curious joy.

“Oh,” I said, unable to conjure up anything else.

“But wait,” Marcel said. “As they say on the television-there is more.” He fiddled behind the structure for a moment. “Yi-im is seeing to it that the First Lady will be able to light this with a single control, aren’t you, Yi-im?”

The smaller man nodded.

Marcel flicked a second switch and the corner poles I’d asked about before came alive with sudden brightness. “Sparklers?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, but they mimic the illusion, do they not?” He drew me closer. “They are able to continue sparkling for hours by using a method of constant feed.” He pointed to the bottom of one of the corner poles. “I have added these-they are spring-loaded to provide… what is the best word? Fuel? To each little flame.”

“Aren’t these a fire hazard?”

Marcel fixed me with a frown. “Do you not think that I have made certain to clear this with our Secret Service?” He shook a finger at me. “This is very low-grade. And not hot. Try touching it.”

I waved my finger over the top of the bouncing brightness. “It’s cool,” I said, surprised.

“But of course.”

“I’m impressed, Marcel. As always.”

He smiled, the feathers I’d unintentionally ruffled back in place. Clicking the house “off” again, he asked Yi-im to restore the lights. When he did, Marcel explained, “I have more of this fuel in my kitchen to replace as necessary.”

“Sounds like you have everything covered.”

“Again I say: But of course.” Big grin this time.

“By the way,” I said, when Yi-im resumed his sugar painting, and Marcel started his own personal inspection, “have you seen the gingerbread men the Blanchard children made?”

“The children?” he said, with a snort. “Certainly not. But I do have the gingerbread men sent to us from the Blanchard household, if that is what you are asking.”

I smiled at his clarification. “It is.”

“We will incorporate those with the house.” He pointed to a position on the wall just above the gingerbread building. “They will be placed there,” he said. “I wanted to fully test my house first and then we shall add in finishes as necessary.”

A soft voice from behind us. “Oh, Marcel.”

We turned. The First Lady had come in from the Blue Room, her hands clasped high to her chest. “How exquisite.”

Marcel’s dark face blushed and I noticed a drip of perspiration wend its way down near his ear. For all his bravado and bluster, Marcel was just as nervous as the rest of us to make sure everything went perfectly well. “Thank you, madame.”

Yi-im scampered out of the way as Mrs. Campbell made a slow show of inspecting the gingerbread house. “I am in awe,” she said.